


You Promised

by fields_of_falafel



Series: The Misadventures of the Modern Hams [4]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Child Abuse, Henry Laurens A+ Parenting, Homophobic Language, speaking of which, this is probably the angstiest one i've written so far, wow these are sad tags whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:13:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fields_of_falafel/pseuds/fields_of_falafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are four horrible moments in John Laurens' life. </p><p>The day his brother dies is one of them.</p><p>[REWRITTEN]</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Promised

**Author's Note:**

> just as a heads-up John is referred to as Jack in this fic since it was his nickname
> 
> also, i rewrote this fic so..i hope you like

“Jack, you promised.”

“I know I did, kid, but-”

“Nope, no buts. You  _ promised _ .” James told him, pulling on his sleeve.

“What if I told you I had more important things to do?” Jack smiled, ruffling his ten-year-old brother’s hair.

“I’d say that you promised.” James told him without missing a beat.

Jack sighed. “You’re not letting me get out of this, are you?”

“Nope.” James grinned and pulled on his sleeve again.

“Alright, fine, come on then.” He said and without a moment’s hesitation started dragging him towards the garage.

Despite being eleven years older than James, the two got along surprisingly well. Jack liked to think that he was a lot like him when he was his age, always happy and ready to explore. And seeing as they lived on what was once a plantation there was always plenty to explore. The Laurens’ came from old money and because of that, they kept with the old ways. Mepkin had been in their family since the 1700s and sometimes Jack thought that if he hadn’t lived here his entire life he’d probably find the old mansion creepy.

Though it was old, it wasn’t a bad place to live. In all fairness, the house was beautiful and the extensive gardens made it seem like a castle out of a fairytale. The close-cropped shrubbery and vast green lawn were truly what made the estate blossom. Their father had professional gardeners that came regularly to tend to the many acres and to keep the house look stunning all year round. They even had horses, though they were only used for racing. Henry Laurens was an avid participant in the sport of horse racing and the money that came with it, which was the only reason that the century-old stables were still in use. Jack supposed that it was one of the effects of living in the Deep South.

James pulled Jack into their large garage that, compared to the rest of the estate, was brand-new. 

“Alright, which one?” Jack asked his younger brother. There were a total of ten cars in the garage, as well as two motorcycles stashed in the back. He personally preferred motorcycles over cars, but knew that his father wouldn’t approve. He didn’t think that Henry even knew they were out here. 

James had shot over to the motorcycles and called to his brother. “Jack! Can we ride on the motorcycles? Can we?”

Jack shook his head, grinning. He knew that was what he’d pick. 

“Aren’t you a little young to ride on a motorcycle?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“No.” The kid said instantly. “I rode one when we were in Switzerland.”

“Who let you ride a motorcycle in Switzerland? Oh.” Jack realized that truthfully,  _ he _ was the one who’d let him tag along on a grocery run two years ago when he was studying in Geneva. 

“Uh-huh. You have to let me.” He smirked.

“No I don’t. I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, so? I’m a kid and your favorite brother.”

“Come on now, Henry Jr.’s, well, he’s . . . nice.” Jack vaguely tried to defend his twelve-year-old brother. (In truth, the kid was an asshole without a personality who would end up just like his namesake).

“So like I said I’m your favorite brother. Can we drive now?”

Jack, knowing that there was no possible way to get out of this, sighed and submitted. “Go grab a helmet, kiddo.”

James scampered away while Jack laughed and started the motorcycle, not bothering to grab his own helmet. Most of the time he just rode without it and nothing had ever happened to him before.

James ran back over and hopped on behind Jack. “Let’s go!” Jack laughed, took a quick moment to make sure he was safe, and took off.

He sped out of the garage, doing a quick turn just to make James laugh behind him and then they were out on the open road. Jack knew the area around their house well, and knew precisely the areas to take his brother into, that were still relatively safe. There wasn’t a paved road around their house for a mile so he knew that there wasn’t much trouble they could really get into.

To show off he sped around a few corners which earned him a ‘whoop’ from James, encouraging Jack to go even faster around the curves.

“Do a wheelie!” The kid shouted and Jack grinned, obliging him happily. He touched back down on the ground to swerve around a corner, James laughing all the while.

“More, more!” James yelled, egging on his elder brother. It worked, and Jack became more reckless with the way he swerved around corners and just barely dodged rocks that could’ve flipped them.

Jack looked back for a second to glance at his brother, happy to see him laughing and having a great time. He glanced back a mere three seconds later, but it was three seconds too long. In that time a large rock had appeared on the path which Jack had no time to dodge.

He barely had time to yell, “Watch out!” before the motorcycle hit the rock and the two went flying. James’ happy shouts turned into a bloodcurdling scream as Jack reached out for him, just grazing his sleeve before he hit the ground and everything went dark.

When he woke again all he could think about was the splitting pain in his skull. He gingerly touched the back of his head and his fingers came back red, and that’s when he remembered everything.

“James.” He said aloud, scanning the area for his little brother. “James!” He called out, bringing himself to his feet. Nothing happened to him, he convinced himself, he’s fine, and he’s going to find him and apologize and it’s going to be fine.

He looked around again and saw the ruin of his motorcycle, gone up in smoke and beyond that a small figure, bent at an awkward angle and lying in the dirt.

Jack didn’t think of anything the entire time he stumbled over to his brother. And when he gazed at his brother’s lifeless eyes - those haunting, fearful brown eyes - he felt sick. 

A scream erupted from his lips then, a scream that let loose every shred of grief and regret in his body. 

“James,” he sobbed, hoping that his lifeless eyes would somehow respond. Any moment now,  _ any moment _ , he’d wake up. He’d smile at him, his cocky little kid smile and tell him he was worried about nothing. He’d help him up and they’d go back home. Any moment now. 

That moment wasn’t coming.

Jack scooped up his brother’s body into his armys, making sure to cradle his head. That’s what his mother told him, when James had been just an infant. Cradle the head. He was so busy making sure of that that he didn’t notice the blood seeping into his shirt.

He held onto his broken body and cried. He cried until all the tears had flowed from his eyes. He cried until the blood dried on his shirt. He sat there and cradled his dead brother until the sun was setting over the trees.

“C’mon Jimmy.” He stood and held his brother just like his mother had told him to. He called him by the same name his mother had called him. He’d insisted to be called ‘James’ instead by the time he was seven. He’d said that Jimmy was a little kid name and that since he was in the second grade, he was a big kid. He didn’t look so big now, slumped in his arms.

He looked up in the direction of the house, which was at least a mile away at this point. He breathed out heavily, staring at the wreck of his motorcycle. There was no other choice.

His entire body felt made of lead but he pushed upward, his brother in his arms. And he began walking back the way they’d came. Left foot, right foot, repeat. His brother was dead weight in his arms, but it was his weight to carry. This was his fault, and he would pay for it.

The sun had set by the time the mansion came into view. Suddenly, he felt like a little kid again, about to be scolded by his father. But this was worse, this was so much worse. He continued placing one foot in front of the other until he reached the door. He was too scared to knock.

The sky had completely darkened by the time someone opened the door. He didn’t know how long it’d been, but from the look on the woman’s face (who he faintly recognized as his sister Martha) it’d been a long time.

The look on her face spoke a thousand words, and her scream said even more. It was this that finally woke up Jack. He blinked and refocused, setting his eyes on his horror-struck sister.

“Jack?” His name didn’t sound right on her lips. “Jack, what . . . what happened?”

He swallowed thickly. “I killed him.”

Martha’s face crumbled.

“What’s going on? Are those boys back yet?” His father’s voice called from the other room. Neither of the two knew how to answer. A moment later he called again, “Martha? Martha, what are you up to?”

Henry Laurens came into the room, looking ready to yell at his daughter until he saw his eldest son - and his youngest in his arms. 

His father’s face contorted into sadness that he’d never seen for just the briefest of moments until his face grew red with anger.

“What have you done!” He shouted, making Jack flinch.

“Father, please don’t yell.” Martha pleaded.

“Shut up!” He didn’t even look at her, just swatted her aside roughly. “Now you,” he snarled, turning to Jack, “what did you do to my son?”

Tears threatened again as Jack spilled everything, “I didn’t mean to, I took him for a ride on the motorcycle and I didn’t see a rock and we flipped and - and now,” He couldn’t bear to look at the bundle in his arms. 

Henry was full to the brim with anger, but turned to his eldest daughter. “Call the police, tell them what happened.” He then called to his butler and said to him, “Take him and put him in his bed upstairs,”

Jack reluctantly let go of the burden he’d been holding onto for so long and watched the butler take him out of the room. The last bit of his heart crushed.

Henry quickly brought the attention back to him, stating plainly, “You killed him.”

A tear slipped from his eye and he was quick to wipe it away. His father didn’t condone crying from his sons. 

“Don’t cry over it, you stupid boy. Own up to your actions and tell me you killed my son!” He shouted the last part and Jack flinched again. He couldn’t respond - he was helpless.

Henry only grew angrier the longer Jack didn’t respond. 

“You killed him!” He shouted. “You killed my son!” When he still didn’t respond Henry struck him across the face and he fell to the ground, tears running down across the red skin. 

“I want you out of my house.” He snarled. “Do you hear me? Get OUT!” Jack scrambled to his feet and ran, collapsing against the garage wall.

He didn’t know what to do. Did he stay, plead for mercy, stay to protect his sisters? Or did he go? But where would he go? The colonies were in turmoil, this was no environment to find somewhere else to go. Or . . . maybe it was.

Still grief-stricken he went into the garage, picking out his favorite car and starting it. He sat there a moment, just hearing the engine roar underneath him.

“Jack!” A voice called. Martha. “Jack, wait!” She ran up next to the car and climbed in. There was a bag in her hands.

“I-I heard what happened. Between you and Father and, I, I want to come with you.”

“No.” He said immediately. He couldn’t put another one of his sibling’s lives in danger.

“Jack, please!” She begged. 

“No, Martha!” He said loudly, surprising even himself. “I don’t even know where I’m going.”

She sighed, submitting, and held up the bag. “I got you some clothes, money and some food. I hope it helps.” She got out of the car, giving her brother one long last look.

“Let me know if you’re safe, when you get to wherever you’re going.”

He nodded. He’d worn out his emotions for the day and so all he could manage was a simple “Okay.”

She nodded and left, running back to the house while Jack pulled out of the garage and drove down the road his brother had died on just a few hours before.

He spent most of the next week driving north, not completely sure on where he was headed. He drove through fields and cities, seeing places he’d only ever seen on television. Cars stuck in traffic on a busy highway, towering skyscrapers that seemed to reach to the heavens, a sky full of stars as he drove down empty highways in the darkest part of the night. He spent most nights sleeping in the back of his car in the middle of nowhere, not knowing where he was going or what to do. He thought about his brother a lot, and Martha. He was six feet under now, buried in the family graveyard. Martha and Mary would’ve cried. His brother Henry would’ve imitated their father and stood stoically, unfeeling. Showing emotion was what girls did, after all, and that’s what Jack had always been to him. He’d always been too much like his mother. He thought about his mother a lot, especially now that James was with her. She’d died five years before, after giving birth to a stillborn girl. She’d always been there for him. He wished she were here now, to show him what to do. But she wasn’t, so he just kept wandering. He didn’t have any real aim, just taking simple pleasure in the rumble of the engine underneath him and the road disappearing underneath him. So he kept driving. He kept driving until he saw an ad for the army on a passing billboard.

The nearest recruitment office was in New York City. He drove faster than he ever had in his life, finally finding something that could mean something - or kill him, it didn’t matter. He pulled up to the recruitment office on an ugly rainy day, and didn’t bother covering up his hair as he walked in. All he knew was that this was it. His purpose. He’d either help his country win this blasted war or he’d die trying.

The first thing the recruiter asked was his name.

Jack was on the edge of his lips, but that name didn’t feel right anymore. Jack had died with James, that day on the road.

“John.” He said firmly. “My name is John Laurens.”


End file.
